That was where I first saw her.
“This isn’t just jade, boy. It’s yu —the stone of heaven. Wei Dong didn’t buy it in Burma. He stole it from a tomb in the Forbidden City. The tomb of a Ming princess who was said to love a common soldier. When the emperor found out, he had the soldier drowned in the Pearl River. The princess died of grief three days later. Her last wish was to be buried with a hairpin carved from the jade of her lover’s home province, so that in the next life, she might find him again.”
For the first time, the smallest crack appeared in her jade mask. Not a smile. Something sadder. A fissure. jade venus
“I could,” she agreed. “But then I would have to ask myself who I am without him. And I’m not ready for that answer.”
The old woman took the hairpin and held it to the moonlight. The jade glowed from within—not green, but a soft, phosphorescent blue, like deep-sea light. That was where I first saw her
One night, a drunk Portuguese trader stumbled to Table Seven. He wore a white suit stained with wine and arrogance. He slammed down a stack of plaques—five hundred thousand patacas—and pointed at Mrs. Wei.
“Liang.”
As the crowd dispersed, I was mopping near the pillar closest to her table. I shouldn’t have spoken. But my mouth opened before my fear could stop it.